More Sense Making

So Titus asks

"Why, scientific oracle, can I remember everything of little or no consequence, and yet nothing that I actually need to?"

The reason for this is actually very simple, and is twofold - the first fold refers to the "invisibility of importance rule" which states that the more important the thing is, the more likely it is to be invisible.

If you think about it, and you don't have to - because I have done so for you, this rule is completely self evident. What is the single most important thing to you? What is the one thing that if it was taken away from you could cause your death within minutes? Not food, nor family, friends, water, or sleep - but AIR - and air is completely invisible - as a natural consequence of its importance. Architects have long known about the structural importance of glass, (also tending towards invisible) in the building of buildings... this too is why you will find lots of glass houses, but very rarely will you find glass-less houses, at least not in buildings designated for human inhabitation, because without the glass, the floppy brick and cement surroundings of the walls would come crumbling down. (A thin kind of glass/ sometimes called plastic (which is also kind of invisible) holds the internet inside your computer, keeping you safe from computer viruses and all manner of unpleasantness but that's besides the point). This too answers why the most important people need airbrushing in photographs, they are so important they go almost translucent in keeping with the invisibility of importance rule.

Now for the second fold for Titus' Important things blindness. Less important facts take up less space in your head, the closest comparison I can make is to say that unimportant facts are like little grains of sand that stick around in your head and are hard to brush away from the sides of the sponge (which is where the noticing takes place, since it's the closest bit to the outside), the important things are much bigger - like rocks - thus giving us the phrase - "she has rocks in her head", and they wedge deep down in the cranium sitting behind your nose just above the back of your tongue. Thus it is very hard to bring them back up to the noticing part of your brain. For this purpose I can only advise Mentos and Diet Cola.

Watercats asked about the mystery of Crystal Swing.

I will reveal it to you now. They are from the same part of the world as moi.

The girl in the group goes to the same school as I used to go to, and legend has it that she sits in the same place for double French of a Wednesday evening. The language lab in St Marys is a magical room, each desk has little walls on either side, and a tape recorder with headset actually as part of the table, and when you sat in the precise position of that seat, the teacher in could never figure out what you were doing. I used the time to read mini life histories of the Saints (Jim Morrison, Jimi Hendrix) and to sew up my pencil case, and this has sewn the seeds for my rise and rise to super-mediocrity. It seems that anyone who has had that seat has become something fantastic, there's been Lily Allen, Dusty Springfield, and the fabulous Nina Simone - all of whom have traced the development of their genius back to that double French class.

I'll wager the same thing has happened with the Crystal swinger, except maybe she ate mentos and Diet coke while sitting brooding, and thus managed to mastermind the genius that is her brother's Huckle Buck bringing joy and salvation to the world....

Anyone else burning with curiosity on ANY topic out there? or have some valuable new science updates to share?

Do let us know...

Bill's Driving... the Poetry Bus

This week's driver was a tough task master... We had to pick our own sentance, chop it in half, come up with alternative endings, and make a poem somehow, someway out of the result - read more about it and see other passengers over here. Read my 5th attempt at the exercise below...

Everything making sense

Would you prefer if everything made sense? Why, it's easy, all you need to do is use your tiny little head to make sense of anything.

Example: Why do trees grow up?

Answer: Because there are little fairy worms under the ground tickling their toes trying to make them laugh and give away the fact that trees can laugh, and so they try to grow away from them, and trees swaying in breeze is actually the trees quaking with the giggles from the aforementioned fairy tickles and the movement of the trees is actually what causes the breeze.

See? That makes sense doesn't it?

You try it.

Or give me another question that you've been pondering for me to make sense of if you like, whatever....

Noel Sweeney on the Radio

This weekend our guest on the Sunday Scrapbook is the most exciting Noel Sweeney.

Noel Sweeney (AKA sweeney) in his own words, is an atypical bog man from Tipperary now stranded in Dublin. A being more at home performing in kitchens. Pubs. Meeting squares and street corners. When tempted on stage he can be a revelation. If he gets it right.
Also in his own words...
"This spin is eternal and ever growing. The recitals to be heard is a harvest reaped from Dublins city. I've hid my poems there, behind park benches, window sills in coffee stops, at meeting squares, even under her cobbled streets, sharing space with dead vikings and the blood of martyrs, they wait. Soaked in the phlegm of the common man, buried in the filth scattered by the mob they pulsate. Hibernating. Primed to rush by the muse that enlivens, a salve’s smear eyeballing the posse of knowing. Annointing all. Making fly. Sourced from the ether streaming blessed things. Lifting skirts, knocking crowns from heads and tales. Insistent. To fill the void they’ll come. By faith I hear them..."

Noel has chosen the theme of Dublin City for our show, and if you're not listening in - you'll only have yourself to blame...

It's on as always on Sunday at 4pm (6pm in Istanbul) on Liffey Sound (link there on the right)... what better way to shake off the Eurovision hangover?

Find the show in the archives Sundayscrapbook.blogspot.com soon after that.

Soft Landing for the Poemonomy

Turns out the poem industry is to have a fairytale ending after all. The government are said to be putting on hold all plans to enforce their new poet licensing regulations when it was found by an independant task force that everyone can write their own poetry at home without posing any risk to public health.
Hamish Seaney is said to have released his child labour poetry factory workers back into the wild in hopes that they will continue to write "yknow, using sticks and mud" he says - staring off wistfully into the distance.
The queues at the various popular poetry stalls have quietened down, with less injuries reported in the daily morning stampede for poetry.
"People are buying their stuff with a bit more composure" says an unnamed man on the street. "They know it's not like it's going to run dry now, so it's calmer like, now that everyone is officially allowed to write their own stuff again"
The poets too are appreciating the difference:
"Well, I have my life back, y'know, I can just walk anywhere without worrying about being mobbed for poems. It's true, it's healthier this way. Poetry's back to being like any other professional career with steady work and a secure future," says one.

So that's all from this well known troubadour of Dublin poetry for now... more here on that!
(they must've checked their facts on my well known-ness with my granny, she knows me v well)

A Poem which attempts to dissuade you from bringing your budgie to Great Outdoors

Don't bring your budgie to Great Outdoors
Not if he begs you flat on all fours
or if he flaps, and shouts, and roars
don't give in to intimidation

Budgies offer no defence
will roost on the expensive tents
nest near the golf clubs, make little sense,
lead to no end of frustration

Don't think he won't peck at the canoes
or jump on trampolines, like an untrained goose
In the Great Outdoors shop, budgies are just no use
won't gain you any admiration

So tell the budgie it's no, not maybe
it's not that you're tired, or even lazy
but if he thinks you're bringin him, he must be crazy
no Great Outdoors (or Millets) for your budgie today


with thanks to Mr Titus for the commission

Update on the Shrink of the UnShrinkable

"It seems that the recent outbreak of poetry influenza, which, it turned out, was contagious after all, has made people more and more reluctant to consume their poetry in the crazy frenzied fashion that was the fashion up to the present time" so began the cautious speech delivered in the Dáil today by the minister for poetry and health - reflecting on the condition that has left 2 people in every household in the country unable to speak or listen to anything at all apart from poetry.

"Even with the poetry vaccination program now out there, ensuring no-one else comes down with the disease the fate of those who have contracted it is scary enough that people have begun to turn away from it in their twos and threes. Poetry-paralysis has a lot to answer for."

Members of the opposition claim that the government's mishandling of the whole surge in poetry, leading to a splurge of crazy spending on poetry has resulted in the present crisis.
Niamh B of various cushions hyper STARDOM has admitted "Things have really slowed down in the poetry world over the weekend, today I've only had 40 poems published, 27 commissions and just 7 odd crazed poetry fans following me on my daily poetry walk. It just seems like the mad love affair with poetry is finally coming to an end."

Poetry gurus deny that the slump is going to last for long with Mick Blendoon claiming
"All my friends are replacing their entire house decor with poems, poems as wallpaper, and outside the house too, on top of the pebbledashing, driveways are as likely to be sonnet-locked as cobble-locked and with the amount of rain in this country the demand is likely to stay pretty phenomenal. This is just a short term dip in interest, nothing to worry about." he looks up at a cloudless ashless sky with a glint of something that looks like hope against hope in his eyes...

Poetry Bus - Firefly picture

This week's bus is ably driven by Terresa who gave us a picture for inspiration - which can be viewed here along with the other passengers' links.

More news on the Poetry Fever

"We are proud to announce that Ireland will be the first to convert to full acceptance of poetic currency as of this day next week" so said the minister for finance. Yes - from next week citizens of Ireland will be free to pay for anything with poetry as well as cold hard cash. "I think it's great" said one motorist, pulling up to the toll booth on the M4 motorway, "Next week there'll be no rooting around for loose change, I just grab one of the many spare poems that I always carry with me, read a line or two and the barrier is raised."

First signs of trouble in paradise: there are some fears that unscrupulous poetry developers could be selling second rate poems to unsuspecting punters. "These last few poems that've been doing the rounds" says Terry McDuff, "they're just a bit shoddier than they used to be, you know? Loose ends everywhere"

John, in a string vest, flips through the channels on his poetry viewer, can find nothing other than poems - he shrugs, "But if the while I think of thee dear friend, all losses are restored and sorrows end." John is the latest victim of poetry flu, a new affliction which seem to leave the sufferer unable to communicate through any other means than poetry. The poetritician called to attend him injected him with a dose of anti-rhyme and poetry-blockers, the disease is not thought to be contagious.

Tom Mathews on the Radio

This week it's the lovely Tom Mathews' turn to take us on a tour of the fantabulous with his theme of "Love and Death"

TOM MATHEWS was born in Dublin in 1952. After working in advertising he studied Fine Art at the National College of Art and Design in Dublin. He has been a freelance cartoonist, writer and critic since 1975. His work appears weekly in The Irish Times and Sunday Independent. He has had thirty one-man shows and his paintings have been exhibited in Living Art, the National Portrait Show and at the RHA. He has illustrated a dozen books, written a novel and published three volumes of cartoons. His last book, The New Adventures of Keats and Chapman, was published in 2008. His hobbies are drinking stout and talking too much about James Joyce and Groucho Marx.

Best known as one of Ireland’s most popular cartoonists, Tom Mathews has for many years contributed poems to a number of small magazines and journals. The Owl and the Pussycat is his much anticipated debut collection and contains—as the title suggests—a variety of parodies, homages, versions and subversions, as well as poems which, with a light touch and steady gaze, look into the darker quarters of the human soul.

Here's a short film about him, if you want to know more...

Hope you can join us on Sunday anyway, 4pm on Liffey Sound, link available freely on the world wide web - that link on the right there somewhere (presumably that's 4am on the exact other side of the world, if the world is indeed round, as "they" would like us to think)
Otherwise catch up on the archives as always. Sundayscrapbook.blogspot yadda yadda

A Poem which attempts to dissuade you from bringing your fox to Iceland

Don’t bring your fox to Iceland

It wouldn’t be so nice and

He’d be better off in mice land

If such a place existed

There’d be no one to blame oh

I don’t mean to sound mean* No

Not the place with the volcano

The shop with the ice biscuits

Frozen food shops are no place for foxes

He’d want to bury the pizza boxes

Would sly his way through the chicken locks as

The cabinets all would be misted

Yes corn on the corn, or veggies, or meals

Foxes can howl all they want, can appeal

But they won’t change my mind on this one, no deal

No Iceland for your fox today

*mean – pronounced to rhyme with blame

with thanks to Titus for the commission

Poetry getting "Incredibly Popular & Important" Part 2

Even since yesterday poetry has increased further in popularity, partly in thanks to yesterday's report which was published in all major journals.

"Poetry has become more popular than any other arts or cultural phenomenon" says the newly appointed Minister for poetry - on his way to a European summit for poetry.
"Eagle eyed couch potatoes out there will have noticed" says the head of RTE, "That we have begun replacing advertisements with poems, poems pay more and are far more culturally enriching"
The marketeers are happy too. Consultant marketing group Robyablind.com have said "It's just incredible, poetry has found so many more usage occasions, they're hip with the Yuppies and down with the Dinkys. Also the shelf life is extremely good, making supply chain logistics a dream to manage"
Sports people are increasingly disrupting games to do a quick poetry reading, with Man Utd stopping their recent game with Middlesborough for a couple of motivational Limericks.
Children are coming under increasing pressure to study poetry, with parents trying to dissuade them from pursuing reckless careers in banking and other traditional jobs.
Most international corporations, starting with Macrofuzzy, have instructed their management teams to replace all minutes of meetings with a poem, "This has increased our efficiency tenfold" says McDoo, the head of Macrofuzzy's software development strategy, "We've also begun using poems as screensavers to give us that jolt that we need to get us back to work"
On the darker side of things, students and truck drivers have been said to be "taking in an excessive amount of poems" in, just for the buzz, "helps me stay awake so it does" says an unnamed driver who preferred not to be named, which was just as well since he was unnamed.Hamish Seaney, the former only full time poet in the village, has been accused of setting up a poetry sweat shop, with children as young as 11 and 12 working 20 hours per day to cope with the increased demands for his wares. "That's a load of rubbish" he says, "Those kids are on holidays at my ranch in Longford, if they happen to write a couple of poems while there, then so be it...." he concludes enigmatically, proving he deserves his place at the top of his new york bestselling poems list.
A young couple from Ballybrogan meanwhile, Melinda and Patrick, are complaining that the price of poetry has gone up so much that they can't afford to buy a poem by their local poets. Says Patrick, "I put money down on a haiku by a Czech poet from the plans three years ago,"
Melinda nods "We just wanted to get a foot on the poetry ladder, yknow?"
and Patrick continues - "We were hoping someday to work our way up to a sonnet, but," and then he shrugs, "our haiku hasn't even been written yet."

This reporter has been asked to seek out other examples of poetry popularity reaching new heights - so we want you - yes YOU - to post a report on your blog telling the world how much this craze for poetry has taken over your village.... Meanwhile the minister for poems assures us this demand for poetry is not going anywhere, the new trend is set to stay well into next week.

Poetry getting "Incredibly Popular" - says Taoiseach

Ask anyone ten years ago whether they've cried at a bit of live poetry, and the answer would possibly be "no" - All that's changed now - today the answer is far more likely to be YES YES YES!!!!

Yes Poetry is enjoying an explosion in popularity at the moment, with staff at Easons sweating as they try to clear the shelves of DIY, Money and Cookbooks to make way for the new phenomenon.
"We just can't keep up with it" says Mr Doomenfeste, Manager at Easons in O Connell Street, "There are more poetry fans who need a regularly daily intake of poetry than we can provide stock for. This is why we are seeing all these poetry stalls outside, for the quick stop shopper." He gestures out to the queues already forming at several of the popular poetry carts on the main street, and it's only 10am of a Tuesday.

Poets are highly paid, conscientious, and hard working individuals as everybody knows, but even their diligent, gruelling schedules are seemingly struggling to keep up with the hunger that's out there for new poems at the moment.
Man on the street says "I buy a brand new poetry collection every day - instead of the breakfast roll and the Sun that I used to get, food for the soul, y'know?"
There's an appeal now launched by the government looking for poets to come and work full time in special poetry bootcamps which have been set up all around the Curragh where they will recieve intensive free workshopping and unlimited substances of all kinds to aid them in their work, "Including green tea" says a spokesman "if needs be."
There's also a huge demand for poets to perform at all the major festivals this summer, storming onto ALL the main stages - with musicians being relegated to the "Non-Spoken-Singy-Type Word" tents.
"This summer will go down in history as the Summer of Poetry" says the Taoiseach.

Poetry Bus - Ear to the Lino

The orders for this week's bus are as follows -

"I got down on my knees and smelled the new linoleum..."

Start with that line and see where you go with a poem - this line should give you somewhere to go using longer lines, and that's what I'm interested in seeing you develop, nice long lines: think Walt Whitman, Allen Ginsberg, Sinead Morrissey... the Bible - from Barbara's Bleeuugh - where you'll soon find more Bus poets posted up here.

Here's what resulted anyhoodle

Maeve O'Sullivan on the Radio

This week our marvellous guide on the world of wonder that is the Sunday Scrapbook is none other than Maeve O'Sullivan

Maeve is a lecturer in media, a journalist and poet. Her poetry and haiku have been widely published in Ireland and the UK and she is working on a first collection. She is also the author of a joint collection of haiku with Kim Richardson entitled Double Rainbow, which was published in 2005 and sold out - she co-runs Summer workshops on creativity with special emphasis on the haiku at the Anam Cara Retreat which will run this year from 22nd to 25th July.

Her chosen topic is "The Summer Haiku" - join us for a bit of a gingko then then - when? well 4pm on Sunday obviously (that's 1am Japanese time for dedicated listeners) or catch up on the archives afterwards http://sundayscrapbook.blogspot.com

Wexford Hijinks

Anyone going to be in or around Wexford this Friday night? If so I shall see you at the Cáca Milis caberet, as part of the Poetry Divas, I'm looking forward to taking part in this eclectic night out (it also has the distinguishing feature of being the only venue mentioned in Dermot Bolger's recent artsy article that I've yet to play at, I'm such a collector! sad really) - here's a made to order poem that I writed especially for the occasion - if enough of ye dare me to, I might even read it out...

A Moving Tribute to Wexford

The trouble with spending poetical time
Writing about Wexford – is that nothing rhymes
With Wexford, no matter, even when googling
I might as well be apple strudeling
If you’d have called the whole county Gorey
Well that would have been a different story
I’d revel with you in all of your glory
Recounting the medals, you needn’t have worried
I wouldn’t have upset the strawberry cart
By saying some wexfordonians have sliotars for hearts
I could talk of the beaches, the harbour, the strand
If you’d only have called it Wexfordian Land
Or if you gave me permission to call it Wexy
I could talk about how ALL the people are sexy
Now that’s it decided, you know it's alright
We'll all call it Wexy – at least for tonight

A Poem which attempts to dissuade you from bringing your ferret to Miss Selfridges

A Poem which attempts to dissuade you from bringing your ferret to Miss Selfridges *

Don't bring your ferret to Miss Selfridges
I know it may seem rather selfish-ish
but you'd be going against staff's best wishes
and you couldn't avoid his detection

Ferrets would target the cashmere sleeves
To hide in, staff would be so peeved
to find he's not part of the weave
he'd be quite the pest, an infection

Ferrets no matter how well groomed
are quite out of place in dressing rooms
and run the risk of being subsumed
into the summer all natural collection

So take the ferret and tell him straight
Sit him down, serve it on a plate
Do what you like, long as you stay away
with your ferret from Miss Selfridges, at least for today

* With thanks to Dublin Dave for the Commission

Enigmatic Fines

This week's Poetry bus poem (see 2 posts ago) was a little enigmatic, as mentioned in some of the comments. Enigmatic was at one stage an enigmatic word to myself and my parents when the English teacher used it to describe me at a parent teacher meeting. It was his nice way of saying I was so quiet he didn't have a clue what I was like for good or bad - we were all delighted by the word (once we had looked it up).

Anyway - enigma's well and good when you mean it, but the poem for this week has an unintended enigma in my use of the word Fine. I've just realised - with a bit of thinking, and looking at the comments that my use for the word is a relatively little known use, so I thought I'd explain it here - hopefully spreading my way of using it and therefore eventually maybe resulting in my poem making sense to someone, anyone at all.

Fines is the term (picked up from working with sliced cooked meats) used to describe the tiny little bits of something that result when something fairly natural in texture is cut and these extra tiny bits of the object being sliced stick to the knife or get spread on the surface of what you're cutting or fall free of the object seperate to the slice or chunk that you have cut, as well as being cut from the original piece. (if they're still stuck to the original that's called feathering)
So in the poem - a fine of you - is a tiny piece fallen off a paper thin slice of a person's life.
most poetic - I think you'll agree
Not a lot of people know that. I would have got Michael Caine to say that for you, but he's busy, and I'm busy (too busy to upload a video), and you're busy, so twill have to suffice as is.

Bursary

Are you famous? Do you read my blog?

If so, you may be eligible for "the famous people who read the variouscushions blog bursary award" intended to help support famous people in their continued desire to read said blog.
The application form for the Bursary can be obtained from your local county council, anytime between 10.30 and 11.00 on a Thursday, unless the office are on their tea break. Please quote reference vhSOvariouscushions.89.3094h when applying - and state the reasons why you, as a famous person, deserve the support which you are seeking to allow you to continue to read this blog.
Also please include a summary of the 22 things you hope to achieve over the next two months while reading this blog, and examples of where this blog has enriched your famous life in the past. Get the form co-signed by your favourite fictional character from a soap in the presence of a witness in the form of the actor or actress who plays that character, and submit to my office in person before or on 5pm Greenwich Nice Time this Wednesday.
Also leave an anonymous comment to this post, hinting at, but not revealing your identity.
Simple really.
* Bursary will not exceed the value of 22c per decade or 2.2 c per year or part thereof. Terms and conditions apply.

Poetry Bus - Poe's Cottage

So this week P Nolan was the able driver of the bus, and he challenged us to select a picture at Random from the archives, and write a poem about it - here's P's blog - where no doubt he'll soon be linking to all the treats that this prompt yeilds - the archives of photos were fascinating, and if I ever need inspiration again I'll probably be hopping back there again.



Caught by a Raven

All you are now
is an old photograph
soiled, and spoiled
each cold look you got
each half fond handle
another swipe
another scandal
tightened
another little fine of you
that bit clearer
till shined up, foiled at
the scribbled centre - lightened
lets me through, to see you
still frightened - after all these years

Mr Randy

So myself and himself went to see Mr Randy Newman tonight...

he opened with this


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rQ_4ss9v7Z4

calling it "Meditations at Twilight" - he said he always likes to start off with a spiritual song

- though the above video was made some time in the year that I was born, he's still sounding as fresh today, and as relevant - and clever, he just has a great range of light and shade, with some really honest lyrics, in a repertoire that's well worth checking out....

and the old classic

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uFmv22ghzQw

Catherina Behan on the Radio

This weeks tour of terrificness is guided by the fabulous Catherina Behan - who has chosen the theme of "On the Road" - for our show which will take us on several of the different kinds of intricate journeys of life.

Catherina Behan has been writing poetry for as long as she can remember, being published here and there in her late teens and early twenties. After performances for associations like Dublin Pride, Catherina took some time off to live in Australia and Asia. Now she’s back and hitting the open mic and performance scenes as hard as she can with performances that are sometimes political, sometimes provocative but always passionate!
Check out Catherina's myspace page on http://www.myspace.com/catherinabehan - where you'll find videos of her spellbinding performances.
Her next live appearance will be at the Odessa on the 13th - yes, next Thursday, where she will be acting as MC for Elder Roche's intimate gig supported by Pearse McGloughlin, both amazingly talented acts - she will be performing her poetry there as well. Ye'd be mad to miss it.

The radio show as usual is on at 4pm on Sunday, link to Liffey Sound on the right there, (that's 4pm in Balrothery). So have your bags packed and join us on the road then - won't you?

Professional PFOs

I have decided to offer my services - to 3 perspective markets

1. Magazines that get millions of submissions for publication, and want to get a better reputation for PFOing on time and in an interesting way.
2. Writers out there who want to practise getting a PFO in a safe friendly environment.
3. Writers who need the thrill or kick of a PFO to get em up off their lazy bums and back in the writing saddle in an "I'll show them" kinda way.

As I said in my post a couple of days ago PFOs can put a fire in your belly - especially if they come in threes, but I believe a single PFO, if creatively crafted, might be enough on its own to get ya goin, and what's more I can perform this service for you for a very small fee saving you all the effort of actually entering something, and I promise to undercut the price of the competition you would have sent the piece to by at least 50 cent.

So go on and send me your stuff for PFOing to, - leave in the comments if needs be, (yes I'll accept online submissions!!)

Some free samples of my work are below:

1. My dog has written better.

2. I was so dissappointed with the low standard of submissions that I've had to write the pieces for this issue of the magazine myself and put them under false names.

3. Your writing is a kitten's meow on a motorway.

4. I cna't evne tpey I'm laghuing so hraaad!

5. It smelt wrong, the envelope you used was the wrong colour, I decided it would be safer for all concerned to incinerate the work.

6. You should shop online from now on- seriously - I wouldn't trust you to write a grocery list.

7. My hyperactive 3 year old fell asleep while I read the first paragraph aloud.

8. When did you write this? What were you taking at the time?

9. It was all about me, wasn't it? I'm not going to publish your salacious gossip, I don't care how true it is.

10. Unfortunately your work exceeded the random vowel count that I have decided to use as my basis for rejection today.

Other ideas for good PFOs? feel free to include em in the comments...

A Poem which attempts to dissuade you from bringing your 3 toed sloth to Dunnes

Back by popular demand - another in the series of

"Animals and Enterprises - what animal you shouldn't bring where and why"

A Poem which attempts to dissuade you from bringing your 3 toed sloth to Dunnes - with thanks to TFE for posing the question

Don’t bring your three toed sloth to Dunnes

He’d surely linger by the buns

Would get stuck on the sticky ones

It wouldn’t be good craic

He’d want to eat all the free samples

Through deli counters he’d slowly trample

And squash the fruit, his butt is ample

Before it’s too late turn back!

Yes sloths are worst in groceries

The choosiest choosers at the slowest speed

They only think of their own greed

When they browse the shopping racks

So tell the sloth he’ll have to wait

At home, or slowly at the gate

He’s not getting out there, no mistake

No Dunnes for your three toed sloth today

3 PFOs and a maybe*

*the maybe being a slightly nicer version of a PFO - ie you were nearly there, but other people were more there than you (if only those 5 or ten feckeens had been out wastin time, cleaning windows or shooting pool or doing anything else, instead of intentionally contributing to your dissappointment by writing something better than the thing that you submitted) - actually the maybe came in separately anyway - a few days earlier - so let's not worry about that, let me instead just tell you about the 3 PFOs

When all the pfos come in on one day it's kind of funny.

First one comes in, you say - "ah well", sigh aloud, look sorrowfully at the little pen clasped in your tough little hand and slow down with the writing a little, maybe go for a break, have a cup of tea, feel it, at your leisure, like the mean little punch in the gut that it is.

Second one in - feels like they're ganging up on you, they've compared notes, the editors of all the magazines are taking about you over their G&T's laughing into their hands, the bullies, determined to knock you off that writing path. You almost agree, well two heads are better than one, maybe they've got something.

When the third PFO in one day drops into your inbox it just makes you laugh, you actually realise - they are seriously trying to stop you, because:

a) you're so brilliant that you are a massive threat to the entire literary universe and you must be stopped

b) they're all remarkably rejectiony of a Monday

or

c) what you've been writing up to now wasn't good enough - you have to write more to get something that is good enough.

Whichever it is, the third rejection of a day can kind of balance out the second gut punch, like by the time the third one comes, you've gotten up off the floor, spat out your teeth and you're ready to go, the fight just got serious, it's time to write.

You turn your email off, for at least 10 minutes, and write the best itty bitty bit of a story you've ever written..... that day so far.

Rejection - better than coffee for lighting a fire under you, and only twice as bitter.

Poetry Bus - the rock n roll poem

So Watercats challenged us to write about sex, or drugs, or rock, or roll (or any combination of those four that worked for us). Not only that, but we were challenged to read it out, a daunting prospect, anyway - here it is, complete with nasal voice and dodgy video skills, i'll put the words further down for anyone who doesn't want to witness the strangeness of a rock n roll poem spoken in a small room alone.

Purpose Built Poem

So - I'm planning to read this later on this evening, at the fire festival, with poetry Divas... So if you're gonna be there, don't read it now, might ruin the surprise.


i'm taking this off cos i want to sub it somewhere but feel free to comment if you want to see it

x


More info on the festival - historically speaking - is here

and on the actual festival ie that we're goin to this evening - here